


give me shelter, give me you

by disgruntled_lesbian



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Cock Warming, Comfort No Hurt, F/F, Female Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Female Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Winter At Kaer Morhen, dysphonia, witchergender witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_lesbian/pseuds/disgruntled_lesbian
Summary: jaskier is always performing // thinking // calculating and geralt was really looking forward to kaer morhen where both of them can breathe, but jaskier is super anxious and is just going going going
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 29





	give me shelter, give me you

**Author's Note:**

> geralt is a he/him lesbian with dysphonia courtesy of the trials, and jaskier's adhd experience is based heavily on my own

when they stopped in towns, jaskier used to come back to their room, some nights — not always, reeking of _sex sad shame guilt_ . those nights, she never slept. geralt would lie awake on the other bed _bedroll, floor_ trying to meditate, trying to ignore jaskier’s quiet sobs. in the mornings, there were bruises jaskier tried to laugh off, smiles that never reached her eyes. a manic performance, something that geralt couldn’t fix with knives or swords or fists, no matter how much she wanted to. 

> _a year ago, after one too many nights of the same dance, geralt sits on the floor next to the bed and asks,_
> 
> _“why”_
> 
> _“my dear witcher, i’m afraid i have no idea what you’re talking_ — _”_
> 
> _“why do you go with them?” geralt gestures to the bruises forming in the echoes of handprints on jaskier’s neck. “why?”_

geralt knows now. knows that jaskier’s brain gets loud, sometimes. that sometimes, there are too many thoughts, too much noise, too much _too much_ it’s hard to focus. that she's the loudest person in the room so no one gets close, wants to scream but she can’t and all she can think about is how her hands are shaking and she can’t make them stop she can’t help she's useless and trapped and — 

she just wants to slow down.

* * *

they’ve been at kaer morhen for a fortnight, and jaskier -- well, geralt watches as jaskier smiles bright smiles that don’t reach her eyes, moves too fast. she’s always talking, strumming, spinning a carefully constructed perform of an _anxious exhausted_ master bard. not jaskier, not _julek_ , but some other fiction to hide behind. 

“jaskier!” geralt snaps as she waves a kitchen knife wildly, telling some story that no one can follow, stumbling over words begging to get out so no one looks too close and then, quieter, drawing jaskier to lean against him, hand curling to cradle the back of her neck. “calm.” 

jaskier slumps, like the strings holding her together have been cut. geralt takes the knife out of her hand, setting it on the table in the middle of kaer morhen's kitchen. he presses his forehead to jaskier’s, taking a deep breath. he waits, patiently, until jaskier's breathing matches his own. 

“go on, julek.” he says softly, his voice hoarse from the cold weather. 

there’s something buzzing under jaskier’s skin and she can’t think but her mouth runs away from her. 

“you should — tea, tea — honey? yes — ” maybe once jaskier can think _think think_ she'll make some tea with honey, because _melitele’s tits_ her witcher is so bad at taking care of himself but — jaskier wriggles out of geralt’s arms, gesturing wildly as she tries to make her way back into the kitchen. geralt grabs her arm, gently spinning her in the direction of the rest of the keep. 

“i said, go on.” he says softly, nudging her with a shoulder. "let's go." 

jaskier stumbles to geralt’s — their — room, tapping her fingers together and humming scales as she climbs the stairs behind geralt, body thrumming with _too much too much_ energy, it feels like everything around her is too slow and too fast at the same time. 

she’s not _not not_ whining, high and needy, as geralt's steady fingers unbutton her chemise, stripping her down to her trousers before he helps her settle onto her knees in front of the fire. 

geralt strips. it’s not a performance, he barely looks at jaskier as he pulls off his gambeson and trousers, slipping into his harness. the witcher leaves his shirt on, the tunic just long enough to offer some illusion of modesty. sitting in the chair by the fireplace, he finally _finally_ looks at jaskier. 

"come here." he says, holding out his hand, and jaskier just — 

needs to be good, needs to know she’s good, needs to know she can’t fail. 

here, kneeling on the cold floor of geralt’s — their — room, wooden cock heavy on her tongue, geralt's hand tangled in her hair as he reads in front of the fire, jaskier feels like she can breathe for the first time in days. 


End file.
